


Everything

by hangoverhater



Category: Inception (2010), RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: BAMF Arthur, Crossover, Gen, M/M, OMCs - Freeform, Pissed off Eames, Violence, confused One-Two and Mumbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangoverhater/pseuds/hangoverhater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur runs into Eames' old friends and gets in trouble. Luckily the friends in question happen to be from before Eames was a forger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I recently rewatched both Inception and RocknRolla, and this just... slipped out.

When Arthur's consciousness slowly returned to him, he was somewhat pissed off. Mainly for letting himself be grabbed by two amateur thugs. He was pretty sure he'd managed to land a few punches before they'd whacked him over the head with something. His head was still pounding from the blow.

He opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. He was in some sort of a warehouse, and somewhere a pipe was leaking because there was an annoying dripping sound. He was -seriously?- taped to a chair by his wrists and ankles, with duct tape, of all things! His suit was fucking ruined! Some had even been slapped on his face to keep him quiet. He wanted to scream at the clichéness of it all. 

His 'abductors' came up from behind him. One was a tall black man with a split lip and an interested glint in his eyes, the other a slightly shorter man with dark hair, black eye and a bloody nose and a pissed off look. Arthur smirked as much as the tape allowed. 

”You're a right pain in the arse, my friend,” the shorter man said, his accent giving away his painfully obvious Scottishness. ”You're lucky someone wants you alive.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head. He tried to speak and convey his annoyance despite the tape over his mouth.

The two glanced at each other, then the black man (who Arthur suspected to be the brains of their little gang) pointed his index finger at him. ”We'll take that off, if you promise you'll be good. If you annoy us, or try something stupid, the tape goes back. Understood?”

Arthur nodded, and the tape was yanked off. He licked his lips and glared at the men. ”Who hired you?”

”We've got a curious one, Mr. One-Two,” the black man grinned to his accomplice before turning back to Arthur. ”We're just the delivery men, mate.”

A bell started ringing in Arthur's mind at the mention of the other man's name, but he decided not to pursue that particular line of thought just yet. ”Did they happen to have an Eastern European accent?” He did have to start somewhere, and at the moment, his best bet was the Russian gangster he'd been employed by most recently.

Another shared glance. Then One-Two shook his head. ”Are we here for 20 fucking questions, Mumbles?”

The conductor on Arthur's train of thought pulled the emergency break, and everything suddenly came into a screeching halt. One-Two. Mumbles. That couldn't be a coincidence.

”You know a guy named Bob? Handsome-Bob?” He asked suddenly, remembering what Eames had told him about his 'wild youth'. 

This seemed to startle the two, and they straightened out. ”How do you know Bob?” One-Two asked suspiciously. 

Arthur groaned, dropping his chin to his chest before shaking his head and chuckling. ”You've got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered. 

Mumbles grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at them. ”Answer the question. How do you know Bob?”

”I don't. I know him as Eames,” Arthur growled, jerking his head out of Mumbles' grasp. ”We work together.” Eames hadn't been on the Russian's job, so he'd be safe if they were the ones that wanted him. If not... ”Were the guys who hired you American?”

Mumbles glanced at One-Two, who looked about as baffled as he felt. ”They might've been,” Mumbles admitted. ”What of it?”

”Then you need to get in touch with him, right now,” Arthur tried to think of a decent plan to get them both out of this mess before it escalated into a complete shitstorm. ”You didn't ditch my phone, did you?”

Now One-Two looked downright uncomfortable. ”Wait a minute here--”

”There's no fucking time!” Arthur lost his temper. His head was hurting and his suit was ruined and these guys were almost useless. ”You have to call him and tell him Merchant's here, he has to get out of town before--”

Mumbles slapped him, effectively shutting him up. ”Calm down. Give me one good reason to trust you.”

Arthur paused to think. Then he looked at One-Two desperately. ”When he thought he was going to be sent to jail, he told you he was gay. You freaked out, but took him dancing anyway. He's still grateful.”

For a moment, One-Two looked absolutely scandalised. Then he sighed and took out his phone. ”What's his number?” He grumbled, clearly not happy with the turn of events.

Arthur smiled in relief, rattling out the number he always memorised despite all the times Eames changed it. 

While One-Two was holding the phone on his ear, Mumbles was looking at Arthur curiously. ”What exactly is our Bob to you?”

Arthur let out a humourless chuckle. ”Everything.”

One-Two was about to hang up and let the call go unanswered, when a familiar voice picked up.

_”Who is this?”_

”Uh, hello to you too, Bobski,” he greeted. ”Is that any way to talk to a mate?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, before Eames' voice was considerably more delighted. _”One-Two! Haven't heard from you in ages! How'd you get this number?”_

Before One-Two could reply, the door at the end of the room opened and three men walked in. Two were wearing all black gear and holding semi-automatic guns, while the third was dressed in a sharp, dark grey suit and a trench coat. The man was smiling smugly. 

”Good evening, Arthur, long time no see!” He greeted Arthur, barely acknowledging One-Two and Mumbles' existence. 

Mumbles and One-Two stepped back, the latter shoving the phone into his jacket pocket. 

The man walked directly in front of Arthur, smiling down at him. ”You're a hard man to find, Artie.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. ”Merchant. I'd be lying if I said it's nice to see you.”

Merchant nodded to one of the other men, who stepped up and smashed the butt of his gun to Arthur's knee, extracting a pained hiss from the Point man. Merchant tilted his head.

”Where's your friend? I've got a few things I'd like to discuss with him.”

Arthur shook his head. ”Eames? I don't keep tabs on him,” he said flippantly. This earned him another blow, this time to his face. He coughed once, then spat out blood. 

Merchant turned to Mumbles and One-Two. ”Thank you gentlemen, your involvement in the matter is now over. You'll find your money in a bag by your car outside.”

Mumbles gave Arthur one last glance before he nudged One-Two and they walked away. Arthur hoped Eames would be smart and drop off the grid, at least until Merchant gave up the hunt. 

\--

Mumbles and One-Two sat in their car for a minute. They'd heard a few more hits land on Arthur as they'd left. One-Two took his phone out again. Mumbles started driving. 

”Bob? You still there?” One-Two asked hesitantly.

_”...Yeah. Where is Arthur? What the fuck did you do?”_

”It's a warehouse by the eastern docks,” One-Two said, rubbing his forehead. ”Look, we didn't know he was your mate, they just paid us to grab him and take him there.”

_”It's fine, no way for you to know. How much muscle did Merchant bring?”_

”Two guys in, three out. You need a hand?”

_”I can take 'em, but I wouldn't mind some back-up in case of surprises. Meet me at Speeler in ten minutes.”_

Eames hung up. One-Two pocketed his phone, glancing at Mumbles. ”He'll meet us at Speeler. I kind of said we'd help him out.”

”Very good, Mr. One-Two,” Mumbles nodded, steering the car towards their destination. ”Maybe this'll shed some light on the situation we've found ourselves in.”

\--

Mumbles had barely stopped the car in front of Speeler when someone hopped in and made themselves comfortable on the back seat. 

”Hello, boys.”

The man sitting behind them was Bob, but wasn't at the same time. Sure, he definitely looked like a few years older version of Bob would look like, dressed differently, too, but there was something fundamentally different about the way he carried himself. 

Mumbles and One-Two nodded, both muttering a fairly subdued 'Bob' in greeting. Mumbles began driving again, back towards the warehouse. 

”So, you've got a plan, then?” One-Two broke the silence, turning to look at Eames in the back seat. 

Eames raised an eyebrow. ”I had one, yes: Spend a lovely two weeks back in my old neighbourhood with my impeccably dressed companion, hopefully most of the time sans clothing. I've had to slightly revise that plan. Now, it includes meeting up with my old mates and rescuing said companion from someone who has no appreciation for the finer things in life. Clothing optional,” he added as an afterthought. 

One-Two rubbed his forehead with a groan. ”Christ! You're telling us exactly what the hell is going on after we rescue your boyfriend!”

”I owe you that much,” Eames agreed and leaned back in his seat. Then he spotted the roll of duct tape on the floor. ”Did you use duct tape on Arthur?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Mumbles glanced at him through the rearview mirror. ”Yeah. The bugger wouldn't sit still.”

”I'll try to keep him from murdering you two. By the way, how the hell did you manage to grab him? I've seen him take down five guys on his own,” Eames chuckled, knowing Arthur was probably furious about the tape on his suit. 

The two glanced at each other, before One-Two shrugged. ”I might've hit him with a two-by-four,” he confessed. When Eames slapped him upside the head, he made a sound of protest. ”Oi! He fucking hit me first! I'm gonna have a shiner for a fucking week!”

”And you fucking deserve it,” Eames scolded, shaking his head. 

They quieted down as they reached the warehouse. Mumbles turned off the engine and the lights, stopping the car a block away. ”So, that plan of yours?” He asked, turning to look at Eames.

Eames leaned on the front seats, looking at the surroundings and the three men stationed by the door. ”I can't start shooting, it'll alert Merchant and he'll shoot Arthur, or wait until I get inside and then shoot him.” 

”How about we take you over, like you'd be our prisoner?” Mumbles suggested. ”They've already seen us, know we're the ones who got your mate, who's to say we didn't run into you and grabbed you in hope of more cash?”

One-Two nodded. ”That might work. Bobski?”

Eames nodded. ”Once we get these guys out of the picture, it should be easier to deal with those inside. Let's go,” he agreed, and they got out of the car. 

Eames gave Mumbles his gun. ”Don't get any ideas,” he joked with a wink, then started walking towards the three men.

The three guys outside the warehouse didn't pay any attention to them at first, but once one of them spotted Eames, they all perked up. 

”What's this?” One of the men asked, pointing at Eames with his gun. 

”We ran into your boy Eames,” One-Two quipped, gesturing at Eames. ”Thought we might bring him over, since your boss was asking 'bout him earlier.”

”Nice,” the same man said, flashing them a smirk. ”We'll take over from here, buddy.”

Mumbles shook his head. ”What is it with you Americans calling everyone 'buddy'?” He asked exasperatedly before breaking the nose of the guy closest to him. 

One-Two and Eames also leapt into action. A few kicks and punches later, all three men were out cold. 

Eames glanced around, nodding approvingly. ”Right. Grab their guns and cover me, yeah?”

He went to the door and opened it slowly. When he didn't hear anything, he poked his head in and immediately felt the cold barrel of a gun on his head. 

”You're late, Mr. Eames.”

The gun was moved away, and Eames looked to his left. Arthur stood leaning heavily against the wall; bloody, bruised, and pissed off. There were bits of duct tape hanging from his wrists and ankles. His shirt looked as if it had been torn open. Eames opened the door completely and looked inside properly.

Merchant and his two other goons were laying on the floor, not moving. As the three outside hadn't been alerted to their boss' new unconscious state, he deduced that Arthur had merely used the gun as a blunt object. ”You alright darling?”

”What the hell do you think?” Arthur replied, clicking the safety on and tucking the gun into the waist of his pants. Then he allowed Eames to catch him as his knee gave up on him.

One-Two and Mumbles came in and looked at the scene before them. The person they'd left tied to a chair was now being carefully sat on the floor by Eames, and three other men in the room appeared to be dead. One of them had a bloody knife sticking from his throat!

”What the bloody fuck is going on here?” One-Two exclaimed. ”How'd you get here from... there?!” He pointed frantically between Arthur and the carnage.

”He was stupid enough to untie me,” Arthur groaned. ”Thought I'd be too much in pain to fight back.”

”How silly of him,” Eames muttered, carefully cataloguing Arthur's injuries. ”We need to get you somewhere I can stitch you up.”

”My flat's not too far from here,” Mumbles offered. ”Least I can do.”

Eames nodded, helping Arthur up from the floor.

\-- _10 minutes earlier_

Arthur spat out some more blood. He felt his teeth with his tongue, convinced that at least one was loose. He'd fucking have to go to a dentist after this. 

”How much longer are you going to beat around the bush, Artie?” Merchant asked, cracking his knuckles. ”I bet you're ready to tell me where Eames is.”

”How much are you willing to bet? I'm pretty confident,” Arthur countered sarcastically. He hoped the two men from before ('One-Two and Mumbles', his mind helpfully supplied) had managed to get Eames out of town, or at least on the way out. 

Merchant sighed heavily. ”I thought you might say that. Jamie, give me your knife.”

The closest of the two gunmen (Jamie, apparently) handed Merchant a military-grade knife. Arthur eyed the blade suspiciously.

”Oh relax, Artie, I'm not going to cut you with this! I'm not that much of an asshole,” Merchant laughed, twirling the blade in his hand. Then he nodded to Jamie, who turned to Arthur and promptly hit him in the head with his gun.

Arthur fought to stay somewhat conscious. He felt his knee getting hit again, the additional pain making his head swim. 

Merchant appeared up close to him, smirking. ”This is going to be painful for you,” he snickered.

Arthur, in a small moment of clarity, felt his legs get freed. A moment later, his hands. He glanced at Merchant, who was smiling at him predatorially. 

The knife was tucked into Merchant's pants, and the man took the time to rip open Arthur's shirt. ”You know, I've always thought you were easy on the eyes. Little on the skinny side, yeah, but otherwise drop dead gorgeous. It's no wonder Eames keeps you around, that ass of yours has to be the tightest.”

Arthur saw his chance, and he took it. In a matter of seconds, he'd headbutted Merchant, grabbed the knife from his pants and thrown it to the throat of the goon furthest from him. Before the guy had fallen, Arthur had punched Merchant in the throat and jumped up from the chair, heading for Jaime next. 

The poor idiot barely managed to raise his gun before Arthur was on him. A well-aimed punch broke his nose, the gun was wrenched from him and consequently used to smash his lights out. 

Now that he had the goons down for the count, Arthur turned to Merchant. ”'Easy on the eyes', you said?” he asked, setting the gun calmly on the chair. He stepped closer to where Merchant was laying, looking down at him coldly. 

”Am I easy on the eyes now?” 

Merchant looked up at him, trying desperately to breathe with the damage done to his throat. Probably for the first time since he'd been a child, he felt scared. Scared shitless by this tall, thin man in a ruined suit. ”Arrrthh--”

Arthur shook his head. ”No. This ends here,” he growled, picking up the gun again.

With one, carefully aimed bash, Merchant was dead. Arthur glanced around, noting that the guys Merchant no doubt had outside hadn't heard a thing. If they had, they'd already be shooting at him. Arthur limped over to Jaime, checking his pulse. There wasn't one. Arthur sighed. He'd been momentarily worried he hadn't hit the man hard enough. No reason to worry about that anymore. All he had to worry about were the guys outside. Ditching the semi-automatic for the Glock holstered on Jaime's hip (Arthur loved his Glocks, even the sight of them made his gun-loving little heart leap with joy), he limped to the door, trying to think clearly enough to form a decent plan. 

Trouble was, he had no idea how many guys Merchant had waiting outside. 

As he leaned against the wall next to the door, he heard a commotion. After it was quiet again, someone started opening the door. Arthur aimed his gun, and waited.

\--

After much persuasion from Eames and half a bottle of scotch from Mumbles, Arthur was sleeping in Mumbles' guest room. Eames had stiched him up to the best of his abilities, managed to extract a promise from the point man to not kill his friends over a ruined suit (”For God's sake, Arthur, I'll buy you a new one from Saville Row, alright?!”), and was now sipping scotch with his two old friends in the kitchen. They were catching up: One-Two and Mumbles talking about their shenanigans after Bob/Eames had left, Eames telling them bits and pieces about dreamshare. 

”So,” One-Two started, ”You're an international criminal now?”

Eames nodded. ”That's right.”

”And you steal shit from people's minds?”

”That is also right.”

”And the bloke in the guest room?”

A small smile appeared on Eames' face. ”He's my everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle with me. This is not my first dip into Inception in terms of fanfiction, but it is the first I've dared to post anywhere. Comments would be, as always, much appreciated, readers, thank you.


End file.
